


The Spartan Mirage

by saphira3479



Category: 300 (2006), Sparta - Fandom
Genre: Ancient Greece, F/M, Fighting, Helots, M/M, Persian Wars, Sparta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:02:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saphira3479/pseuds/saphira3479
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a Spartan spares a helot's life, the outcome is beyond what they would have ever thought possible</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spartan Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> Having studied Sparta for around a year, right when I finished my course I thought to myself 'What would happen were a Spartan and a helot to become friends?'. I am aware many people have very little knowledge about Sparta and the way it worked, other than what 300 or Meet the Spartans tells us. Sparta is incredibly hard to find out about, as there are no remaining texts that were written by actual Spartans, only outsiders with either bias or little insider knowledge of what really happened. We know that Sparta had an entire enslaved population, called the helots, that worked and produced food for the Spartans, freeing up the Spartiates lives for training to become the perfect warriors. There are many stories of the cruelty of the Spartans towards the helots, Thucydides telling of when 2000 helots were asked to come forwards if they felt that they had served the Spartans well in battle; they were given wreaths, as if they were to be freed, but were never seen again. There has never been any archeological evidence found, but it is assumed they were all killed.  
> The krypteia were another of these cruelties; every autumn, the best of the young adult Spartans in the agoge (the 'school', or training, that every male was put through from the age of 7 until 30) were released at night into the countryside, with or without weapons, and were ordered to kill any helot they found. This would accustom them to killing, so they would suffer no attack of morals on the battlefield, while keeping down an enslaved population that vastly outnumbered them. Admittedly, there is no record of the krypteia until later in the timeline of Sparta, whereas this story is set pre-Persian wars (the film '300' was set during the Persian wars), and there is doubt as to the existence of the krypteia, but for the sake of plot, I have taken the premise that it did exist at the time.  
> I would be happy to answer any further questions about Sparta, to the best of my ability, and I hope you enjoy.

Aiolos felt the dirt beneath his feet, the moisture of the night chilling and numbing them to the pain. He could not see anything, except vague, indistinct shapes looming out of the darkness as he moved slowly forward. Silence was the key, moving with the stealth of a tiger through the trees. Tonight was the first night of the krypteia, the hunt, the move in for the kill. Aiolos knew what an honour it was to be chosen for the krypteia, a reward for his years of training, the next step towards the kings’ personal guard. Only the best, the most Spartan of the boys were chosen to join the krypteia, and the thrill of that knowledge coursed through his blood. Never had he felt so in tune with his senses, the hunter stalking his prey. He heard the movement of a bird to his left and froze. The chill of the night finally drew the last of the heat from his bare skin, covered by the scarcest of cloth. He had removed the ‘cloak’ every boy was given, afraid it would catch on a branch and give his position away, alerting his prey to his position. The promise of winter hung sharp in the air, the tang of the snow that would fall soon. He suppressed a shiver and took another step forward.

Suddenly he heard an intake of breath close by, and adrenaline coursed through his body. This was what his training had been for, readying him for his first kill. He smiled a predators smiled and moved behind a tree, avoiding the branches strewn on the ground. The forest was silent once more, except this silence was of a distinct lack of noise, not the natural noises of the night. He could sense there was something nearby, trying hard to make any noise, but that gave its position away completely. Aiolos had always prided himself on his senses and judgement, and the person was only a few feet away from him. He took one slow step forward, a sharp stone digging into his heel but he made no sound; after years barefoot, he had learnt that pain was something to help not hinder, and the sharp pain focussed him further. He tried to see a shape in the darkness, and caught a tiny hint of movement. Aiolos grinned. He withdrew his dagger from his makeshift belt, the blade whispering against the fabric. He readied himself, moving in for the kill.

Silence.

He pounced, moving forward with a speed and agility of a trained soldier. The man before him spun round, the whites of his eyes showing wide with fear, and lunged to the side. Aiolos followed quickly, not allowing him to escape. The man was slightly taller than him, but skinnier and weaker; the fight would be over soon. Aiolos leaped and stabbed, aiming directly for the chest, bracing himself for the moment of blade sinking into flesh, but it never came. The man rolled with a speed greater than his own, leaping to his feet and positioning himself ready for a fight. Aiolos grinned, knowing his first kill would be a tale he could regale to his friends and Bacchis, the shock on their faces delicious. He mirrored the man’s position, and they stood in staring into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily. Aiolos moved first, darting forward with a sharp stab to the man’s side, but went wide as the man ducked out the way. Aiolos grinned, spinning a half circle and forcing his dagger into the space where the man’s stomach had been positioned, as planned. His dagger again hit air and his eyes widened in shock, leaping away to back up against a tree. The area was silent again, no movement or sound nearby. The disappointment he felt was palpable, his first kill escaped and a strong one, with apparent knowledge of Spartan combat. A man who could easily orchestrate a rebellion, he realised with a wince.

A twig snapped to his right and without thinking, he leaped at the shape there, finally hitting a firm body and pushing him to the ground. He cursed, realising he had dropped his dagger during the leap. The man beneath him shifted, forcing his elbow into Aiolos’ face and felt the bone crunch. He hissed in pain, but kept his grip just as tight. He tried to move more on top of the man, using his weight to try and keep him down so he could move his hands to around the man’s neck, but the man struggled further, clawing and biting at his hands and nearly slipping away. Aiolos cried out, angered and determined to win. Suddenly, he felt a blinding pain behind his eyes and let go completely, hands reaching up to cradle his skull. It was that moment the clouds parted and Aiolos saw his opponent. Tall and sandy haired, with darker skin than his own, and grey eyes which shone pale in the night. The man’s eyes grew wide in fear, breath quickening with the knowledge that Aiolos had seen him fully. Aiolos tried to move, but he felt a stab of pain shoot through his head and lay back resigning himself to the death that would be sure to follow. 

There was nothing. He opened his eyes with a wince and saw a hand extended to-wards him, open. He stared at it in shock, unsure what was happening. He had been beaten, bested by another in battle, and it was the man’s right to take his life. Hesitantly, he took the offered hand, which grasped his in a tight grip and pulled him up. The man looked at him with grey eyes, full of a sadness which Aiolos was surprised by. They looked flat and lifeless, resigned and without hope. The man walked over to Aiolos’ abandoned dagger and Aiolos tensed, afraid that he was about to turn and finish him off, but the man simply offered it to him, hilt first before kneeling on the ground, head bent. Aiolos suddenly felt a burst of anger from within, anger and confusion. This man had bested him in a battle of strength; this man had won, and yet was offering up his life as if he had lost. 

“Why are you doing this?” he said. The other man looked up in confusion.

“I am a helot. You are a Spartiate. I should think that would be sufficient answer enough,” he replied in a subdued, monotonous voice. 

“Yes, but you beat me. You won, you were better than me, and I am your kill. You should not be giving your life up for a loss,” Aiolos said, puzzled. The other man looked up sharply at him, eyes narrowing.

“You are more innocent than I have given you credit for, evidently, and I apologise, sir. I meant no disrespect,” he said, voice dripping with condescension. Aiolos felt anger rising within him and roughly grabbed the man’s hair. 

“How dare you speak to a Spartan like that, you disgusting piece of filth. I could kill you in an instant, or drag it out for hours until you begged for death. Now tell me; why did you do this?” 

“Sir, I will speak plainly, for it seems the need arises. I have a wife and two sons. If I, a lowly helot, killed a Spartan in cold blood, as the Spartans would say that I attacked with no provocation, of course, what would happen to my family? Even if they never found out that it was I who had killed you, they would have killed every man for miles around, women and children to, just to prove a point. No helot can kill a Spartan without repercussions raining down on him like bolts of fire from the heavens. I must offer my life to you now. If I had not, you would have taken a search party out, roaming through the countryside with tales of how I had done some terrible thing, and I would have had to flee my home, leaving my wife and children without protection. I would have been found eventually, or if I had escaped, alone for the rest of my life with nothing to my name. Now tell me, sir, if you were in my position, would you act any differently?” he finished, scathing tone and eyes filled with hatred boring into him. He looked away, fight leaving him. “Artemis was not on my side tonight. The Goddess revealed my face and left me with no other choice. I was doomed from the start, if the Gods sealed my fate in such a way.”

Aiolos was shocked. This man before him would sacrifice himself for the lives of others, would die willingly and honourably if it would save those dear to him. The care he felt was almost tangible, evident throughout his speech, and he showed more Spartan ideals than many Spartans he trained with now. He raised the dagger and placed it over the man’s neck. He did not move, his head bowed and face in shadow, showing no fear. Aiolos tried to move his hand, raised the dagger and tried to make a clean swipe, but could not bring himself to do it. Helots were no more than animals, donkeys to sweat under the blaze of the sun and work until their bones gave out so the Spartans could live their lives in freedom. This man was no pack horse; he was a proud beast, graceful in battle and unafraid of death, a prince among paupers. Aiolos could no more end this man’s life than he could destroy a work of art. He dropped the dagger to the ground and offered his own hand to the man beneath him. He looked up, startled, a small glimmer of hope in his grey eyes. 

“My name is Aiolos, son of Andokides. Well met, helot.” The man’s eyes widened further and he hesitantly took Aiolos’ hand. 

“Well met, Aiolos, son of Andokides. My name is Leukos, son of Duris. Sir, not that I am presuming too highly, but…are you sparing my life?”

“I am. You have shown courage, and are almost Spartan in your actions. Know I could kill you, but choose not to. However, I must ask for something in return for giving you your life,” he said. Leukos looked slightly afraid, but nodded. “I ask only for your silence, a lock of your hair and some of your blood. As proof of my defeat against a helot of great strength.”

Leukos laughed and relaxed. He grinned and shook his head.

“Of course, sir, and your victory will go down in history. I hope that the other Spartans recognise your acts of valour for what they are,” he chuckled, eyes sparkling in amusement, before freezing and once again looking afraid. “I apologise, sir, I meant no disrespect.”

“No matter, pay it no mind. May I cut your arm? It will be easily blamed on a fall,” he replied, amused. Leukos looked relieved and offered his arm. Aiolos lifted the dagger again and pressed gently onto Leukos’ skin, sliding across it smoothly and then covering the dagger in the blood that welled up. He ran the bloodied blade over his cheek and clothes, before lifting the dagger and roughly chopping a length of the sand coloured hair from Leukos’ head. He tied it round the hilt of his dagger and slid it into his belt again. Leukos smiled at him, dabbing at his cut with the edge of his clothing. They stood and stared at each other in silence. 

“It was an honour meeting you, Leukos. I hope life treats you well, and the Gods give you more luck than they have tonight,”

“I somehow feel that the Gods may be shining on me more than I had previously thought. Thank you, sir. You have been kind to me, and I will not forget this.”

“Good fortune, Leukos,”

“Good fortune, Aiolos.” As one they turned away, believing themselves never to see each other again.


End file.
